In the Past
by 60sec400
Summary: God, Dick Grayson is small. The entire experience is so surreal. They're sitting in the Grayson's trailer. Mary and John Grayson are sitting with them, eating spaghetti. They're all talking like there's nothing weird about it. Dick is sitting on the couch with Damian and, well, he's eight years old. Because, I mean, doesn't everyone time travel to 2005? Time travel fic. One-shot.


**First Young Justice Fic in... god, three years? Been a long time. Never forgot these guys. Naturally, it takes place in the future, kinda? You'll see lol.**

 **I hope you enjoy! I am by no means receiving money from these characters and stories. These characters belong to DC Comics respectively and I am simply using them for my, and others, enjoyment. Thank you and enjoy!**

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There are many reasons it's a bad thing when Batman wakes up unconscious on a building rooftop in Gotham City. His identity could be compromised. Someone could have poisoned him or hurt him or put some sort of drug into his body. He typically had no memory of what had transpired before, because it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the East side of Gotham. It was morning too, which wasn't good, but this side of the city was generally pretty quiet when it came to the daylight hours.

He picked himself up off the ground and rubbed his head. He checked the time.

10:08 AM

So, a little later than expected. He ducked into the shadow of a utility building and held a hand to his ear.

" _This is Batman, Robin come in_."

There was the static of something and then—, " _This is Robin. I'm here. Although… where are you?"_

Robin's voice was straining but it didn't sound like he was hurt. That was good.

" _Are you back at the Manor?"_

" _No,"_ Robin replies, as though this were obvious, " _I woke up on 11_ _th_ _and 35_ _th_ _. Where are you?"_

Batman wants to close his eyes because not only had he been down for the count, but Robin had too. And for all of Robin's excessive training in all areas of his life, the boy was generally pretty good about not getting knocked out when it came down to it.

" _You want to tell me how the fuck I ended up here?"_

Well that was surprising. Red Hood generally didn't interact with Batman and Robin, opting to go on his anti-hero spree around Gotham City and the cities around it. He'd been linked up to the comm. system for a while, a couple of months at least, but generally ignored most of the chatter that Nightwing andRed Robin created. Batman glanced over the side of the building. He needed to get to higher ground. In the distance he could see the Wayne Inc. building through the mist. Their meeting spot.

" _Todd,"_ Robin snaps.

" _No names,"_ Batman said. He shoots his grappling and lurches forward to follow and land on a higher roof. He shot it out again, swinging high above a crowded street corner.

He lands on a roof several hundred feet away from the Wayne building when the sound of a cape and feet hitting gravel lands behind him. He swings around, fists tight and his body tense, but it's Red Robin. The boy has his hands up in front of him in a clear 'don't hurt me' gesture. Batman relaxes.

"You wake up without any idea of where you were too?"

Red Robin rubs the back of his neck, an action picked up from Nightwing, and nods. "Not too far from here either. Know what's going on?"

Batman looks away and in the mist he can see a small body swing up to the top of the Wayne building. It's Robin, clearly. He turns back to Red Robin. "Not sure."

" _Are you all coming or do I have to figure it out all myself?"_ Robin asks. He sounds disgruntled and tired; Batman had worked with the boy long enough at least to figure out when he was tired or upset. And he'd gotten good over the years of living with young children to know when they were at least exhausted and over something.

" _Shut it, Demon,"_ Red Hood snaps.

" _Enough,"_ Batman says roughly. He turns to look back at Red Robin, whose leaning over the building side with binoculars. He's frowning, not a face Bats is unfamiliar with, and then he pulls himself away from the ledge and puts his binoculars away.

"Thought I saw something," he says, and then gestured to Wayne Inc. "Shall we?"

Batman nods gruffly and the two of them shoot their grappling hooks up. They swing through the buildings and land behind Robin. Red Hood is standing there, looking none too pleased, but he has his arms crossed and is leaning against one of the sides of the building. He's relaxed, which is a good thing, and not on the defensive. The last thing Batman needed was for Hood and either Red Robin or Robin to get into an argument over something petty. Particularly their places by Batman's side.

"Something's off about this whole thing," Red Hood says suddenly, and then he's pulling a newspaper from behind his back where Batman couldn't see. He hands it wordlessly to Bruce and goes back to leaning against the building. He looks out over the city, eyes narrowed, as if placing something in his memory.

Batman looks over the paper, Red Robin coming up behind him to read.

The date. March 14, 2005. It's a Monday. Batman blinks.

Red Robin crosses his arms. "Time Travel? No way," he exclaims. He puts his hands on his hips, pushing the cape from his shoulders, and turns to Batman. "There's no way right?"

Batman tests his thoughts before speaking. They'd been thrown almost 17 years into the past, in Gotham City. He was still just Batman, with no Robin or foster sons of any kind. Damien didn't even exist yet and neither did Tim. Jason was barely two years old. And the Bruce Wayne of this era was barely 26. He'd only been Batman for three or four years at this point.

"There… might be a way. Magic is a possibility, and there's a chance that we might've ran into some temporal displacement— places where the time stream weakens," Batman said. There could be a 50/50 shot that it could be either but it's unlikely. Temporal displacement generally affected massive places and not individual people. It was likely though that it could be manipulated to send one to the past, coding DNA or specific times and places for someone to show up and trigger the lapse in the time stream. But that relied a lot on chance and Batman didn't see any villain working with time travel relying too much on odds. But you could never be too sure.

Red Robin still looks apprehensive and he's muttering under his breath about something. Robin pulls the newspaper from Batman's hand and stares at the dates at the top of it. He looks conflicted before he shoves it back to Red Hood. Jason doesn't bite and smacks the paper from the kids hands. Robin opens his mouth to argue but Batman stops him before he says anything.

"We need to change, can't risk my younger self seeing any of us," Batman says.

Red Robin lets his hands fall. "Time travel does explain why I saw Bruce Wayne getting out of a limo in front of a gallery," he says. "I thought I saw something and that's why I pulled out my binoculars. But I didn't think… I mean, I thought it was some guy who looked like you."

Robin scowls and jabs his finger at Red. "In our business, you can't assume anything, Drake."

"Enough you two," Batman says, putting himself between the two. He felt like he'd said the word 'enough' far more than one life time. "You have your civilian clothes?"

They all nod and turn to stare at him. He moves away to the edge of the building, suddenly thankful that the Bruce Wayne of this time isn't in his office. "I'll be right back. Stay here," he dictates and then drops down. There's one particular window that he always leaves unlatched in the case that he might need to escape or need to swing into the Wayne building at any moment. The window is open, thankfully because he couldn't really remember when he started doing this, and he falls in, rolls, and lands crouched on the floor. His office is organized differently, that much is clear, but thankfully the closet is there with extra suits.

He pulls down the cowl and strips off his Batman suit. The suit he picks— black, with a green tie— fits alright. It's a little too snug and a bit tight around the shoulders, but it would do alright. He'd have to return it before they left. He sticks his comm. unit back in his ear and turns it on. The bat-suit fits into his belt that he straps underneath his suit jacket. It bulges a little, but he could chock it up to un-fitted clothes. When he turns around, Robin is now Damien and he's wearing a hoodie. Red Hood just took off his helmet and Red Robin was now Tim Drake.

"Now to get out," he says. He opens up his phone and— if his memory served correctly, which it did— his secretary had just been hired. He dials the number of one Eileen Denver and waits one… two…

" _Hello, this is Eileen speaking. You've reached Wayne Incorporated, Bruce Wayne's desk. How might I help you?"_

Bruce flashes his grin to no one in particular. "Oh, Miss… eh, Denver, yeah?"

He hears shuffling not only from outside the door, but over the phone. _"Mr. Wayne!"_ the woman is hardly formal at all, but Eileen was a good employee even in his time, and she'd gotten a lot better about answering the phone when she realized it was him.

"Yes, it's me. I'm at the gallery event right now, and well, do you think you could run over a couple of blocks and help me out? Having a problem with, ah, you know," he says.

He already hears her gathering up her keys and things. " _Of course, Mr. Wayne. I'll be right over!"_

"Thanks, sweetheart!" he exclaims and then ends the call. When he pushes his phone back into his suit jacket, his grin is gone and his face is emotionless.

Tim is frowning at him, but Bruce is already striding toward the door. He checks a moment to see if the area was clear before they leave. Getting out of the building is no big deal after they get to the bottom floors. The stairs don't have camera's in them— they won't for a few years— and after Bruce erases video footage from the security room they're well on their way to the West side of Gotham to the Batcave where hopefully they can begin to find something before Bruce and Alfred of 2005 return to intruders.

"I could just leave," Jason snaps angrily immediately after Bruce pulls him from almost being hit by a car. He knows it's a jab at him, but it's Tim who replies. "Won't be distracted by you assholes."

"Why don't you?"

Jason whirls around then and Bruce has to stop short to keep from running over Jason. But Tim is next to him and then suddenly he's falling into the ground. He catches himself quickly.

When he twists around, he finds Tim staring at him in shock because… did Batman just trip? Jason and Damien are behind him. And all around all of them are the pieces of food from someone's grocery bag. A red haired woman is holding her head, lying on the ground. One bag of groceries is relatively intact and immediately Tim reaches forward to pick the woman up.

She accepts his hand and immediately looks to Bruce. "I'm so sorry! Did I get my food on you?"

He looks down at his suit. There's clearly tomato plastered across his chest. "No, no please, I stopped in front of you. Are you alright?"

The woman, red haired with blue eyes, nods. "Oh, I'm fine! Please, let me help or something!"

Before Bruce can insist that he's alright, she's already moving to pull out a handkerchief and is wiping away at his chest. He stands there awkwardly and she chatters on for a few minutes about something before suddenly they're all looking at him.

He blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

He hears Jason mutter, "Old man" under his breath. He ignores it.

"Would you like lunch?" she repeats, hardly perturbed by his lack of focus. He wonders if it's an effect of the time travel.

There's something in her face that makes Bruce wonders if he's met her in the future sometime because she seems so familiar but he can't quite place it. The curiosity gets the best of him and he says yes without even thinking about it. He can tell that the kids are all surprised— they would have thought Bruce's priority would be getting back home. And normally it would have been, but he's a detective and this is something he feels the need to follow.

She slides her grocery bags toward her and then stands straight and smiles. "Oh, I didn't catch your name!"

"Clark Thomas," Bruce says instantly, reaching out with his hand. She grasps it with surprising strength. "And these are my… sons, Jason, Tim, and Damian."

He can feel Jason's eyes on him as he says that.

The woman smiles at all of them. "Mary Grayson!"

For a moment, they've all frozen. But the woman doesn't notice, she's picking up her bags and already beckoning them to follow. It takes Bruce a moment before he's behind her, behind a woman that has been dead for almost two decades. It makes sense now though, the familiarity, because the eyes he had been looking into were Dick Grayson's. He can feel the tension behind him, from the boys. Tim looks the most composed and occasionally he asks Dick's mom questions.

When they stop at a light, Bruce spares a glance at Jason and Damian. Jason looks like he wants to explode, his arms are crossed and his face is tight. Damian is practically staring at the woman with childlike wonder, despite the fact that Damian and the word childlike did not usually belong in the same sentence.

"How old are you?" Mary is speaking directly to Damian now.

The boy's face smooths out. "I'm ten."

The woman smiles, if possible, even brighter and suddenly Dick Grayson seems to make so much more sense now. "My son is around your age— he's about to turn nine in a week."

Tim and Jason share a look with each other, knowing full well that Dick's birthday wasn't a happy one. Damian tries to look pleased at the thought that they'll be someone his age where they were going, but he's schooling his features to try not to look angry and looks like he's trying not to cry really. Bruce feels his stomach drop because, god, he's looking at a dead woman. But they keep walking, Mary's talking keeping the conversation going almost completely. They arrive in a part of town that Bruce is familiar with and he knows when they turn the corner they'll come to the fair grounds and be greeted with the sign for Haley's Circus.

They're greeted with red and white when they go around the building. Bruce's memories flash back to that night because he remembers it vividly, as much as Dick, but they're walking under the gates and Mary is greeting several people. They arrive by a trailer that Bruce recognizes as one half of the Flying Grayson's, and by extent Haley's, property.

"This is where we live, sorry for the mess by the way, my husband really loves books," Mary says as she balances the bags on the railing around the door. She unlocks it and opens the door, snapping the light on.

"Richard! We have guests!"

There's no answer and Mary frowns, walking in. Bruce follows with the boys behind him. Covering practically every surface are novels, magazines, sketchbooks, and journals. The only free space is a dining room table and a coffee table that's pushed up next to an old green, yellow and orange stripped couch.

She dumps the bags on top of a little bit of kitchen counter and walks further into the trailer.

"Richard!" she calls again, pulling open a curtain that opened up to a bunk bed. She frowns and walks back over to the kitchen table. "Did he at least finish his homework?"

It was completed, if hurriedly, but done. And Mary had told Dick that he could go outside if he finished his math homework. She turns back to her guests and throws up her arms. "I've lost my son!"

Bruce chuckles just once, mostly to himself, because he can't count the amount of times that Dick had disappeared on him one way or another when he was younger. When his stomach grumbles and he hold his hand across it, Mary's face lights up.

"Lunch!" she exclaims, "Right! I'm so sorry about your suit by the way, it looks very expensive."

He looks down at it again. The red from the stain is barely an outline on the black. Alfred would've been able to spot it from a distance. "Really, don't worry about it. I have plenty." He realizes that he sounds like a spoiled rich guy, but the woman laughs and begins to pour milk and flour into a pot.

"So, you do live in Gotham?" she asks.

"Yes," Bruce replied, "I've lived here all my life."

"Are you married?"

He's not sure how to respond but thankfully Tim rescues him. "Oh, Jason and I are adopted. But Damian here is… Clark's real son."

Damian puffs his chest slightly and Mary smiles.

"I'm not married, no," Bruce says truthfully. Mary doesn't seem to react, but he can't see her face from his angle. He has to twist himself a little to look back at the woman in the galley kitchen.

"Oh, that's so nice! I've been married to John for about… I don't know, several years now. We met when we were seventeen."

Bruce felt like he was getting knowledge he shouldn't know about. Dick had never talked about his parents before the circus and before they had him. That was assuming he had even known. They'd died on his ninth birthday, it wasn't like you'd spit out family secrets to an eight year old.

But Bruce plays his part and widens his eyes. "Wow! That's so young! Did you always travel with the circus?"

He knew he shouldn't pry. Tim is looking at him strangely, and even Jason seems concerned.

"Oh, no," Mary replies, squashing the garlic with the side of her knife. "I grew up in Philadelphia. I'm the living incarnation of 'ran off to join the circus'."

Bruce is surprised to find this out. He assumed that his parents had both grown up in Haley's— Dick had never mentioned anything different. Maybe he didn't know.

"Why'd you leave?"

Mary's smile faltered and her face flushed red. "Oh, complications with family."

Tim's leg jerked under the table. "Family?" he blurts and immediately looks right at Bruce. The surprise on his face is evident. Bruce turns around too because, well, Dick didn't have any living family members after the accident. That didn't include his Uncle, but the man had been taken off life support almost a year after the incident. If Mary Grayson had an entire family that no one knew about…

Mary seems to shrug because, well, if Dick never knew this as her son, then why would she tell random strangers? But then then she diffuses the sudden awkwardness by asking if they wanted anything to drink.

"I have warm tea," she says, "and then I have mango and strawberry juice and then…," she rummages around the refrigerator for a moment, "and I have some milk and, of course, water."

Moments later they're all sitting at this small dining room table, if it can be called that, with cups in front of them. They're the little plastic ones from IKEA because Mary says they don't have glass, not on a train and certainly not with an eight year old and, well, 'Clark' would get that wouldn't he?

"I'm sure you don't have your glassware just up and about where your son's," she hesitates over the plural, "can reach them, right? Don't want him breaking something and suddenly having the idea to mess with sharp objects."

Bruce smiles his charming smile but Tim gives a small awkward smile and Jason snorts loudly. Damian is staring at his milk cup with strange concentration. Before he replies, the door of the train opens up.

Damian's eyes shoot up and he exclaims, "Grayson!" but the name fades from his mouth before anyone can comprehend that he's said anything. And for a moment, Bruce swears it's Richard Grayson standing there, because the man standing there looks inexplicitly like the boy he helped raise. But reality comes crashing, and the differences begin to shine through. This man is broader and shorter than Dick. His eyes are grey, not blue, and his face isn't as narrow. His skin is a little darker too. If Bruce had only met Dick once and saw a picture of his father somehow, he'd have sworn up and down they were the same person. He felt an odd ache in his chest.

Dick's mother, sure, he could handle. But the man that Dick had accused him for trying to replace was not something he was sure he was capable of maintaining a level head at. Bruce's one goal among many had been to never replace the boy's parents— and he didn't know if Dick had ever thought that he had tried. He'd never called Bruce dad, except that one time Dick had been unconscious. But then Bruce had said, "No, it's me" and the sound of Dick's disappointing "oh" had never left his mind. They'd never discussed it because by the time they got old enough to really have that conversation as adults, Bruce had ruined their relationship and it had pushed Dick away.

Bruce, without a doubt, thought of Dick as his son. Probably, though he'd never admit it out loud, far more of a son than the others. It wasn't that he loved him more, because that wasn't true. Bruce loves his sons all so much. It was that Dick had been what'd he needed to become a father; Dick had been his son. No questions asked.

Jason accused him of favoritism, and while he made sure to never let his love for his first son, his light, affect his decisions, he knew that deep down he'd always try to keep Dick Grayson safe.

"Hey, sweetheart!" John Grayson exclaims as he leans forward to kiss his wife on the cheek. When he pulls away, his strange dark grey eyes land on the group at the table. "Oh, hello!" He turns to his wife. "We have guests?" the question and his tone are comical together and Mary laughs at her husband's expression.

"I accidently slammed my groceries into Mr. Thomas over here. I invited them to lunch. It was the least I could do," Mary explains, gesturing to Bruce. He gives a small wave and the man grins back.

"It was my fault, really, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and probably caught your wife off guard," Bruce explains. "She was kind enough to invite us over. I must say, you've got quite the collection."

He picks up a copy of The Scarlet Letter that's been clearly read and reread over. He opened the book to flip through and found, next to an adults loopy cursive, was a child's handwriting. "You enjoy reading?" he joked.

John Grayson laughed. Oh thank god, he seemed to like Bruce.

"Just a little." John paused, snuck a spoonful of the sauce Mary was making. The woman clearly noticed but went on about measuring the cream. "Actually, I was looking for Dick."

Mary frowned. "We lost our son."

John didn't seem the least bit bothered by this. In fact, he cracked open a water bottle and grinned. "Oh, we don't have to pay for college now."

"John!"

The man ducked from his wife's hand and slipped over to the couch. He winked at Bruce and threw his arm over the top. "So, you live in Gotham?"

Mary laughed. "Oh, I asked them the same question. They're from around here!"

"It's a strange city, not unlike any I've been to before. And I've traveled a lot," John said.

Surprisingly, it's Jason who speaks. "What do you mean it's a strange city?"

John Grayson looks at them with his dark eyes and his smile falters a little. "It's like the city is holding its breath you know. We weren't too pleased when we heard we were coming to Gotham. It's not safe, really. If Mary and I ever do settle down, it wouldn't be Gotham," he says. His voice is deeper than Dick's but for a moment, if he closed his eyes, Bruce could hear his son. "I mean," the man continues awkwardly, "no offense to you. I just would be nervous about leaving Dick alone, you know. Only reason we're not frantic looking for him now is because if our eyes aren't on him, someone else's in the circus is."

"None taken," Bruce says. He understands, he does. "Gotham's dangerous… it's just a good thing there are men like," he coughs, "Bruce Wayne to help clean up the city."

Mary snorts. "I wouldn't trust Bruce Wayne with finding his way out of a paper bag, let alone with cleaning up a city." She rubs her hands over her eyes. "Bless his children if he ever has them." She does the cross symbol over herself and turns back to her sauce.

And Bruce, despite himself, feels his face burning red.

Jason laughs out loud and verbally agrees with Mary, much to Bruce's own chagrin. Tim elbows Jason, but the elder boy continues snickering. Damian's face is probably just as red as his fathers.

"Have you thought about settling down?" Tim asks quietly then, looking between the two.

Mary turns and leans against the counter, her eyes flickering to her husband and then back to Tim. "We've thought about it. Maybe going back to Philly or going down south. Or Europe you know? Move somewhere exciting."

"Maybe have another kid," John remarks.

Mary's eyes were unfocused and she rests a hand against her stomach. It's not a smile for the future, it's a smile and knowing placement of the present and suddenly Bruce begins to feel sick.

But Mary turns around to drain the pasta and the door of the trailer slams open. Dick Grayson, in his eight year old glory, is standing almost covered head to toe with mud. He bursts into the room, stops briefly to duck under his mom as she yells and lifts up the pot of boiling water.

"Richard!"

"Sorry mom, hey dad! Hi strangers!" he yells. He leaps over a pile of books and straight into the bathroom.

Mary drains the water and then immediately walks over to the bathroom door and raps her fingers against the linoleum. "Richard, what in the world were you doing?"

There's muffled movement and then something slams against the ground. "Nothing!" The shower head turns on. Mary looks down at the ground, where Dick had trekked the mud in, and frowns.

John is leaning forward on his knees, but looks otherwise unconcerned about the whole ordeal. He knows that Mary can deal with their son without having to get him involved. The boy had only brought in mud; it was nothing that the trailer had ever seen before.

"Richard, you'll explain yourself when you get out of there," she demands before she turns away and apologizes for her son. "I'm so sorry, really," she says, "He's normally great around people he doesn't know yet."

Bruce raises a knowing hand. "Oh, I think I understand."

Tim glances at Bruce. "Yeah, and he did say hi to us when he came in," the seventeen year old points out.

"I'm not a stranger," Damian mumbles under his breath. Bruce catches it and shoots the boy a warning glance. They didn't want to risk the timeline as much as Bruce already had, and certainly not by telling Mary and John that they were dead, and that Bruce and his sons were actually Dick's adopted family. Though, Jason might not have thought of himself as such.

"Well, lunch is ready. He'll be out in a few minutes, so we can wait a minute or two."

"Need me to help set the table?" Bruce offers.

"Oh, no!" she insists, pushing the man back down. "You're guests. John can help."

John stands up and claps his hands together. "Of course, dear." He begins to pull plastic plates from one of three cupboards when he directs his attention to Jason and Tim. "You two in school?"

They look surprised and, in a rare moment of togetherness, share a glance with each other. It's Tim who answers first.

"Oh, I graduated early. I want to study Computer's, you know, and ugh, coding. Math and stuff," he says. He stumbles over the words a little because jeez, it's 2005 and he's not even born yet is Computer Science even something you can get a degree in?

"Never graduated," Jason says, "I traveled a little bit. Went to the Middle East."

Bruce and Damian throw him dark looks that don't go unnoticed by John and Mary. The two share a look, but before they can ask any further, Dick slams open the door of the bathroom. He's wearing a pattern red and blue shirt and jeans that, despite Mary's attempts to get rid of them, still had grass stains on the knees.

He trots up to John and throws himself onto the couch, immediately mirroring his father's laid back attitude. "Hi!" he says to them, crossing his arms over his chest as his father does so. "I'm Dick."

"Shake their hands, Richard," Mary says, a hint of a warning in her voice.

He pulls himself up from the couch and reaches out to shake Bruce's hand. It's a moment before he grabs it and it's like meeting him the first time all over again. But this time Dick's hands aren't covered in blood and he isn't sobbing on the ground over his parents. He isn't holding his side and there is no bleak, blank look in his eyes as they meet Bruce's.

"You've got a strong grip there, chum," Bruce hears himself say. Dick grins up at him before he slips his hand from his own and turns to Damian. He rests his head on his hands, apparently not feeling the need to shake anyone else's hands.

"What's your name?"

And Damian looks incredibly flustered and his face is such a deep red that Bruce is pretty sure he's never seen his biological son that color.

"Damian," he replies quietly.

Dick's grin is contagious though. He nudges Damian in the arm and smiles. And now that Bruce has seen Mary Grayson, it's undeniably her smile. The boy is darker too— he probably spends more time in the son than he ever did when he lived with Bruce. The boy had always had olive-toned skin, but as he spent more time indoors and on a computer it'd become, well, not pasty, but lighter. He was almost darker than Damian, who'd inherited his own darker skin from his mother.

Damian smiles back.

"I'm Dick," Dick says. "Do you like board games?"

"We're about the eat sweetie," Mary says as she sets a plate full of spaghetti down in front of Bruce. "But you and Damian and push the coffee table forward and eat there if you'd like."

"Cool," Dick exclaims, shooting up and twisting himself around his mother to head to the back of the trailer. A moment later he pulls out from the bottom bunk, which had apparently become storage, an album. "Wanna see my baseball card collection!?"

Mary sighs, but John nudges her a bit. Damian agrees and Mary sets them up with spaghetti and glasses of milk. Damian actually looks like a normal kid sitting next to Dick, asking him about all the baseball players on the cards. He's a little patronizing, but that's Damian. Mary squeezes in where Damian was sitting and John is eating his spaghetti standing up and leaning on the counter.

"So," Mary begins and then pauses. "Dick, did you pray?"

Dick's head whips around at nine hundred miles an hour with wide eyes. Immediately, the boy closes his eyes and folds his hands and mumbles something under his breath about food before he turns back to Damian. Mary sighs, says her own prayer, and then begins to eat. Jason stares uncomfortably for a moment at the table with the spaghetti half in his mouth already.

"What's it like living on a train?" Bruce asks, folding his hands and leaning his elbows onto the table. He can tell Mary disapproves (and he desperately wants them to like him) but he still has a persona to keep up, even if Mary doesn't really know that.

"It's different," Mary says. "But I've been at this for about… god, I don't know. Ten years now? Twelve?"

John nods. "Whenever we got married. So… '95? No, it'd be '93. We got married in '95 but she joined me two years earlier to become a performer."

"Wow, congratulations," Tim says, and he really does sound excited for them, "A decade is a long time. I can't imagine being together that long. How'd you two meet?"

They're prying, all of them, and it's partly Bruce's fault. But John and Mary are so personable, just like their son, and their answers are easy and they ask questions back. There's nothing malicious about them. They're people, nice people. Nice enough to invite random strangers into their home for lunch. It was something Bruce would never have done, especially back in this time, and certainly not now. He was kinder, if he could ever be described that way, in other ways.

But he feels a little dirty. This isn't something to take lightly and it definitely isn't something he should have even pursued. But it was rare that Bruce couldn't place a face, and the familiarity of Mary Grayson's face had peaked his interest enough to warrant him to drop the investigation into time travel and accept an offer to lunch.

Mary looks a little surprised at the question but smiles almost dreamily at her husband. "I snuck onto the circus property with my boyfriend and met John."

John frowns, but it isn't sincere, and there's a hint of a smile on his face. "What was his name?"

"Jackson," Mary says, "Jackson King."

John snorts and he pushes more spaghetti into his mouth. Mary turns back to Tim and smiles brightly. "Well anyway, we snuck in and I met John. Wasn't particularly happy with my relationship and well, you know," Mary shrugs. "So we really hit it off, and I broke up with Jackson and we talked almost completely through letters and phone calls for two years before he was off. We met up and then, well, you know, here we are."

"She's classic 'run off to join the circus'," John jokes.

Mary laughs. "I told them the same thing!"

"But after that, we got married and then… well, now we have Richard," John says, and he looks at his son with such adoration. And for a moment, Bruce is incredibly jealous. And then he feels incredibly guilty because he _can't_ be jealous and, if anything, John and Mary should feel jealous about him. He'd gotten to really raise the boy. He'd seem him mature and grow. He'd seen him grow into the amazing young man he was today. Bruce had loved this boy like the son he'd never got to have. They'd died. They were the ones who missed out. And, ultimately, Bruce was the one that failed their son. He was the one that, despite everything, created the Richard Grayson that existed today and the one that pushed him away.

Dick was a hero who, a decade after their death, would blame himself for the death of his best friend for the sake of a mission. It was something he'd never inherited from John or Mary. He'd gotten it from Batman, from Bruce Wayne. He'd gotten the undeniable need to stake everything for the mission. Bruce had failed him. But Bruce was so proud of him, so, so proud. Because despite Bruce— Richard Grayson would always be a hero. He would always be better than Bruce.

"I know the feeling," Bruce says quietly, his thoughts interrupted by his own need to connect with the man in front of him. He's never asked for approval from anyone, except maybe Alfred, for most of his life. And maybe Dick, when he first came to live with Bruce. But he always wondered if he'd have had their approval— Mary's opinion of him has already been made clear, and while he's glad his guise is working, he thinks it's working a little too well.

He can feel the eyes of Jason and Tim on him. Jason's burning holes in the back of his head and Tim has this sad, resigned look that Bruce can't quite place.

Once lunch is over, and it's very good (he wonders if maybe Alfred can replicate this?), Mary and John invite 'Clark' around the circus. They tell them about them being acrobats and Bruce has to act surprised about that. But he agrees and leaves the boys here with Dick. He knows they'll be safe.

After the door shuts, Jason turns to Tim. "What was that?"

Tim glances over at Dick and Damian, and neither of them are paying any particular attention to Jason or Tim. He leans over the table, pushing his cup back. "I think Bruce is feeling a bit of nostalgia."

Jason snorts. "Hm. Why? It's not like," he pauses, "Wing is dead or anything. Unless you forgot to tell me something."

Tim rolls his eyes and turns to look at his brother. Dick's sitting there with the largest grin on his face and he looks so happy. And Dick had always, even when Tim had known him through his angsty teen years, been a happy person. He was optimistic. But he could see the change. And he supposed that, to Bruce, this was like a slap in the face. Look at the perfect child you ruined, Fate seemed to taunt. But Tim knew Dick was grateful to Bruce for how he turned out, for better or for worse, even if neither of them would ever admit it. Dick Grayson was a damn good man. When he turns back to Jason, the elder boy is glaring at him with one eyebrow raised.

"No," Tim says carefully, "I mean. Imagine. You raise up this kid and, well, you know Bruce and Wing's relationship. For years they couldn't even talk to each other without screaming and, well, I think Bruce sees this kid and—."

"—he feels guilty?" Jason finishes. He's quiet and stares at Dick with a strange look in his eye. "I always wanted his approval too, you know."

Tim doesn't say anything. It's not like Jason really ever opens up to him. Usually it's Dick the one that gets them to work together and even know, at nine and with them 17 years in the past, he's managing to do just that.

Jason continues. "I get why he was upset, I do."

Tim hears the unsaid 'Replacement'.

"When I came onto the picture, Bruce had just… given away everything that Dick had ever lived for after his, you know. But he was, to me, Robin! And like, he was the first boy wonder. He's not as much of a dick as I make him out to be and definitely not a Golden Boy. I wanted him to make me feel not guilty."

Tim nods, and laughs a little at the joke. "I wanted it too. I still do. Not the guilty part, I think he learned from his experience with you, but the approval."

Jason jerks his chin toward Damian. "Kid's lucky. Dick had matured. He's grown since you and I."

"Maybe we have _Wing_ to thank too," Tim says quietly. He hopes Jason catches the emphasis on the name 'Wing'. "Because without him, there'd be no Bruce Wayne as we know him today."

Jason seems to agree, but he doesn't say anything. They're both watching Dick and Damian. And Tim decides to try and figure out Damian as best he could (that was Dick's job usually). Because the kid is sitting there, clearly enjoying himself but definitely trying not to. His face is a constant shade of red and he looks over at Dick angry occasionally. Tim's not sure where the animosity is coming from because, aside from the odd strange occurrence of an eight year old Dick and a ten year old Damian, the kids get along pretty well. Dick has put away the baseball cards and he's showing Damian a notebook.

"Tim, Jason, you should see this," Damian says. "Dick is proficient in drawing." Damian pulls himself from the couch and plops next to Tim. Dick follows, sliding in next to Jason. The older boy scowls a little and scoots away, but Dick doesn't seem bothered by it.

The boys lean over a sketch book. There's a child drawing of a uniform. It's like the first Robin suit, but there's no cape and the colors, in crayon, are a lot less subtle than what Jason and Tim had ever seen on any of their suits. There's no belt either, and it seems to be more in one piece. Next to Dick's drawing a little more older and completed sketch of the same suit but the initials signed next to it are M. L. G.

There's a uniform sketch that distinctly looks like it's Nightwing's first uniform with the blue wings stretching all the way down to the fingers.

"My parents are acrobats," Dick explains, and he flips the paper and there's a taped in picture of Mary and John where they look distinctly younger in a uniform that's more green than anything else. "I'm gonna join them soon, next week!" He breathes in sharply. "Oh, do you wanna see a trick!"

Tim hesitates a second too long because Dick rolls under the table and spring out the bottom. He yells a hurried "Come on!" and disappears out the door.

Damian is almost immediately behind demanding that "Grayson, slow down!"

Tim and Jason glance at each other, Jason seems to shrug and then they're both following the bobbing forms of Dick and Damian. He takes them to one of the concrete blocks on the side of the fair ground.

"Watch this!" and then Dick is running toward the block. Several feet before he gets there he jumps into a front handspring and when he lands, uses the block to launch himself into the air. He curls his body tight and one, two, three, four flips later he lands on the ground with his arms up. He spins perfectly on his heels and bows dramatically.

"Dick!"

The boys looks past them with wide eyes and then grins. "John!"

Tim, Jason, and Damian all turn in an instant and are greeted with a man that looks like another Grayson. It's Dick's cousin, John, and the only reason Tim knows this is because Dick had once shown him several family pictures of all of them together.

John glares at them but the look fades as Dick runs up to his cousin. "Hey, did you see my flip! I nailed it this time! These are my friends, Jason and Tim and Damian. Damian is my age. Hey, could we practice later today? What are you doing?"

John grabs Dick by the shoulder and pushes him behind his legs. Dick stares up at his cousin with confusion.

Jason frowns. "Dude, what the fu—?"

"What's up? I'm Tim!" Tim says hurriedly, moving to shake John's hand.

But John glares at him. "Who is Wing? And Bruce? Because if that's the guy my Aunt and Uncle are with, I was introduced to him as Clark Thomas. So you're either lying about who you are, or my hearings going. And I know it ain't that. What do you want with Dick?"

Oh god, John seems to think they're going to hurt Dick. The thought makes Jason's blood boil because, okay yeah Dickie annoyed the hell out of him, but he'd never hurt the guy. Not now. At least, maybe. Sometimes.

"Dickie-bird here is safe with us," Jason snaps before he thinks and Tim looks at him with a horrified stare. "What's it to you?"

John frowns. "How do you know—?"

"John, Richard, there you are!"

It's Mary, and she's walking a few paces ahead of the elder John and Bruce aka Clark. She's waving happily but notices the tension when they arrive.

"What's wrong?"

John points a shaky finger at Bruce. The man doesn't look bothered but Jason and Tim can see the confusion in his eyes.

"That man's name isn't Clark Thomas! They were calling him Bruce, and they seem to know Dick!" John Jr. says, his arms wide as he stares at his Aunt and Uncle.

Mary frowns and turns to Bruce. "What's all this about?"

And Bruce has the honesty to at least look sorry. He rubs the back of his neck, on purpose because it's not a habit he ever picked up and looks up. "My name is actually Bruce Wayne. I change my name sometimes when I'm on the street so people don't recognize me. I'm sorry to lying to you, especially when you were kind enough to treat us to a wonderful lunch."

Mary and John look at each other in surprise because they clearly weren't expecting that and then Mary covers her mouth when she realizes she'd practically called him stupid to his face earlier. She's about to apologize when John the younger pipes up.

"They were talking about Dick like they knew him," the man says. He switches to Romani immediately. Mary turns away from Bruce then, and it's clear she doesn't quite understand the language as well. But Dick and John the elder are staring at the man with rapt attention. It wouldn't be long until Tim and Jason's apparently overheard conversation was known.

"Dick, come here," Mary says, her voice low.

Dick doesn't move. He's gripping his cousins shirt and looking back and forth between the group of people.

"Richard?" Mary tries, and the boys eyes snap to hers. He seems dazed but he walks over to his parents.

"Why'd you speak in past tense?" John the younger asks. He seems more confused.

Tim wants to scream because their apparently private conversation had been overheard and Tim isn't even sure how. Jason is looking between the younger John and Dick and he seems almost overprotective, but that can't be right.

"We know someone named Dick too," Tim reasons just as Damian screams that they're from the future.

All their eyes snap to him.

"We're time travelers and we know Grayson in the future!" he exclaims, pointing his finger at Dick. The kid is clearly terrified and even though Dick incredibly resilient, he's also very untrained. Not that Tim would know what to do in this situation either.

Mary says something to her husband in Romani and then to the younger John. Dick's cousin walks over and swoops Dick over his shoulder. The boy stares at them as they recede into the family's trailer. She turns back to them, her blue eyes, Dick's eyes, are dark and narrowed. She's suspicious.

"You're insane," she says, and moves to turn away from them.

"I can prove it," Damian says. Bruce moves to stand in front of Damian. His eyes are dark and Tim knows they are, as Jason would say, fucked.

"Enough of this," Bruce says. "My son is playing tricks. I apologize for the trouble. Thank you for lunch."

"You said my name."

They turn to find Dick standing there. His father moves to pull him back, but Dick ducks under his father and slides away. His mother shouts his name, but the boy is staring at them in a way that's distinctly Robin.

"Earlier," he points to Jason. "You called me Dickie-bird. And I heard you talking, I know my mom says not to listen to people talking but you said my name and said I had… matured and that I was probably the best thing for Bruce or something."

Bruce's eyes flash and he turns on Jason and Tim. "You what?"

"What is going on?" Mary demands, her voice rising above them as Tim and Jason begin speaking at the same time. She is standing there with her hands on her hips and John is there with a hand on her shoulder. He's angry too, and a little confused. "I want the truth. Now."

Bruce knows he'll regret his decision but he cannot lie. Perhaps he's softened in his old age or maybe he just can't bring himself to lie to Dick's parents anymore. "We're from the future, that's the truth."

"You're insane," Mary repeats, taking a step back. But Bruce tosses his wallet on the ground in front of her.

"Look," he says.

John walks toward Bruce's wallet carefully, his eyes on him the entire time. This is a nervous father, for his wife and his son. But Dick has disappeared when Bruce yelled at Tim and Jason, probably back to the trailer. He can see the younger John ushering a small body back inside. When Dick's father opens the wallet, he finds several credit cards and couple bucks and a driver's license for Bruce Wayne that expires in 03/25.

He hands it wordlessly to his wife.

"It could be fake," Mary says, his voice shaking.

Bruce catches the wallet she tosses back to him. He pockets it and holds his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "You're names are Mary and John Grayson." He gestures to John. "Your brother is Richard and his wife is named Karla. You've always performed with Haley's circus. There's an elephant named Zitka and she loves Dick. When Dick was six, he remembers you singing 'I'll Fly Away' to get him to go to sleep."

Mary has a hand over her mouth and John looks shocked. He turns to stare back at the trailer before turning back.

"You know our son?" John asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce nods. "You call him your little Robin."

Mary's closed eyes snap open and she stares at Bruce with the strange sense of uncomfortableness. She doesn't know what to think. It wasn't often a strange group of people said they were from the future and claimed they knew your son. God, how far away in the future?

She doesn't realize she's said it out loud until the boy, Tim, says, "Seventeen."

"He's twenty-five," she calculates, her voice dazed. She needs to sit down. John grabs her by the shoulders. She looks at them strangely and she sees the great fear in almost all of their eyes. The boy, the youngest, looks guilty but he doesn't seem to care. He's ready to burst into tears.

"I want Grayson back!" the boy yells. The older two jump and the man, oh god it's Bruce Wayne, only turns away from Mary and John to look back at his son.

Jason frowns. "Dick's fine, he's in the trailer—."

"No that one," the boy spits vehemently. "I want… I want my Grayson. The annoying one who always takes me to ice cream and who tells me I do good and is my older brother and not the boy in there!"

It takes Mary a second to register what the boy said. John is already straightening.

"He's back home, Demon," Jason says. "In the future. Safe. Try calling him for all I care."

"Oh, don't act like you don't care, Jason," Tim says, folding his arms over his chest.

"Shut it, Replacement," Jason snaps.

"We died," Mary says, her eyes haunted. She's staring at the ground with this dead look in her eyes, as if she were seeing her future before her. "You talk as if… as if we died."

John shakes his wife a little. "Mary! Mary look at me! _Miriam_!"

But Mary's eyes are staring straight at the ground and she's unmoving.

John forces his dark grey eyes on the group. "Please. Leave."

Bruce moves forward, a hand out in a helping gesture, but John Grayson literally pushes him away before he moves back to his wife. He shakes her again and she seems to snap out of it.

"When?"

Bruce pauses and regrets but isn't guilty about the lie he says. "It isn't soon. You have time."

' _A week_!' he wants to scream. ' _You have a week!'_

But Mary seems to nod and accept this. "Can we… may we write a letter?"

Bruce hesitates but nods. Yes. He knows if he could have a letter from his parents he would take it in an instant and cherish it forever. Mary and John shoot him sparing glances before they disappear into their trailer.

"We'll discuss this when we get home," Bruce says, his voice more Batman's than Bruce Wayne's. He knows it doesn't affect Jason as much, but he and Tim are really the ones that spurred this and doesn't care if he doesn't make a dent. It's a circus trailer, not the Batcave, it's pretty obvious it isn't a safe place to necessarily speak freely. And definitely not in front of the person they all personally knew. Dick was incredibly perceptive. He could pick up on things when we wanted to, and he generally wanted to. Too curious for his own good.

It's John who comes outside ten minutes later. Dick is trotting behind him, clearly unsure of what was happening. He stands behind his father as John hands Bruce a thick letter.

"You love him?" John asks. He stares at Bruce with a difficult emotion. Bruce, despite how easy Dick is to read, can't read the man's own father.

"He's my son," Bruce answers honestly.

John nods and there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Say goodbye, Dickie."

Dick looks up at Bruce and smiles again. "Bye," the boy whispers.

"Bye, chum," Bruce replies, "I'll see you soon."

][][][

They'd changed back into their costumes that night, hoping to catch sight of the other Batman and sneak into the cave. But then they're all waking up again in various parts of Gotham the next morning. When they reconvene back at the tower, Red Hood hands Bruce a newspaper.

March 14th, 2022. It's a Wednesday.

When they arrive back in the Batcave, all of them, Nightwing is sitting in Bruce's chair. He spins around to meet them, raising only one eyebrow as he sips on his coffee.

"You guys go out without me or something?" he asks. He's joking but there's a bit of hurt in there that's clear. Dick's always been a people person. They have more proof of that now than ever.

But Robin, Damian, sprints forward and tackles Nightwing. The chair is pushed back into the computer and Nightwing lets out a little 'oof'.

"I missed you! I don't even like baseball!"

Nightwing wraps his arms around Damian and holds the kid there for a moment before he grasps his shoulder and looks at Damian in the mask. "Uh, whoa, okay what's all this about?"

Damian's a blubbering mess and it's so, so strange. But Jason and Tim chip in a little bit about, oh you know, we just traveled back in time for a day and met you as a kid? You don't remember that?

Nightwing still has a hand on Damian's shoulder when Bruce gives him the letter. On it, it says 'For Our Little Robin'. He looks up and pulls the mask from his face.

Mary Grayson's eyes are looking at Bruce. "This is my mother's handwriting."

"You should read it," Bruce offers.

And Dick slowly slips open the envelope. The writing is hurriedly rushed and there's a few pictures stuffed in there too, but the emotion is clear. Tears begin to leak out of Dick's eyes. He wipes them away before they fall but no one is judging him, not really. He picks up one of the pictures and smiles.

"Always wondered where these went," he whispers, "Never did find them before or after the move." He sighs and rubs his eyes, breathing in one last shaky breath. In a flash, he's not Dick Grayson anymore, but Nightwing. He squeezes Robin's shoulders.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," he says, a small smile on his face.

Damian huffs. "You were so annoying!"

* * *

 _Fin._

* * *

 **Thank you, and please leave a review! (Never written Tim or Jason before, or Damian really, so... yay!) 3**


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